


Shape of You

by Funkspiel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Awkward Boners, De-Aged!Mr. Graves, Graves is ashamed of his lack of control, Hand Jobs, Horny Teenagers, Large Cock, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink, Two Dicks One Hand?, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: After an ambush, Graves is suddenly stuck in his 18-year-old body and crammed into a safe house, guarded by the Goldstein Sisters and currently shared with Credence Barebone - another potential target of Gellert Grindelwald. Which would befine, really, if Graves could just remember how to control all these teenage hormones.





	Shape of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingramblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/gifts).



Graves stared at himself in the mirror and scowled. Any other day, it would have looked the part, too. Fierce, annoyed, agitated, disapproving. But right now it only looked… _cute_ , and that pissed him off to no end. They had gotten cornered on a raid. An ambush by Grindelwald’s direct flunkies, not just some copycat band of starstruck idiots. An ambush that had resulted in one of his men in the hospital, another one with a broken wand, and their Director of Magical Security de-aged to the body of an 18 or 19 year old lad.

He hadn’t realized how much he had changed from his youth until he was, well, _young_ again. His face baby smooth, not quite able to grow any respectable facial hair. Slightly shorter, lanky and lithe in a way he had forgotten he ever was. The collar of his shirt spilling over one bony shoulder, engulfing him in crisp white. His brows thick above big, young, watery brown eyes. Wrinkles gone, scars gone, age gone. Just scrawny with youth. They had to cut a new notch in his belt just to keep his pants up.

He looked ridiculous. And as though he _were_ a teenager, his team immediately started to defer to the Madam President rather than listen to him. He was _fine_. He could do his job just fine no matter how old he looked. He was still in his right mind. He could still lead. And he most certainly did not need to be stowed away into some safe house like some child that couldn’t protect himself.

“We don’t know what his next move is, director, but it’s obvious he’s targeting you. You’re the only one they, well… that they did this to, sir,” Tina said, braver now after her work in the initial Grindelwald capture - despite the madman's inevitable escape.

“I may be younger, but my mind hasn’t changed, Goldstein. I’m more than capable of protecting myself,” Graves snapped, thin arms crossed over a baggy dress shirt - looking for all the world like a young boy caught in his father’s clothing. Scowling. Most assuredly _not pouting._

“As an adult, you fell to a trap, Percival,” Picquery said as kindly as she could, but it didn’t remove the inherent sting within. Graves flinched. “Rest. Get your head on straight while we search for a cure. And for mercy’s sake, behave for the Goldsteins."

“I’m not a child!”

“I’d be telling you to behave if you were a _man_ or a _boy_ , Percival, I know how you get during house arrest.”

And thus, he found himself an unwilling house guest to one Tina and Queenie Goldstein. Not even in _their_ house, to be specific, but lodged out in some middle of nowhere cabin turned safe house in an effort to keep Graves off the grid and safe until such a time that his true body could be restored. That’s how he found himself in Tina’s pajamas, of all things, scowling from the fact that _a woman’s set of pajamas didn’t fit him._ Too big around the hips, a huge amount of ribbon hanging from the drawstring band. Tina didn’t seem pleased by the revelation either, if her sour expression and Queenie’s giggle were anything to go by.

“Look on the bright side, sweetie,” Queenie said as she tried to straighten the too loose button down top currently engulfing Graves, exposing a milky collar bone. “At least Teenie has rather ambiguous sleepwear. Imagine if you had to settle for _mine_.”

And _that_ had Graves blushing.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t borrow one of mine,” a small voice said from the couch. Credence Barebone, dressed in a plain set of pajamas that decidedly fit him far better than Tina’s outfit conformed to Graves. Granted, the pajamas were bought for Credence - of course they fit - but Graves couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy. Standing in the middle of a room, surrounded by two giggling women, one of which was his direct report, and looking for all the world like a young man in women’s (at least decidedly masculine) pajamas.

“You can’t give what you don’t have, honey,” Queenie said gently, brushing hair from Credence’s brow with tender fingers. “We barely had enough to time grab you a bag before we had to meet up for the portkey. We’re lucky we got a set of pajamas stuffed in there at all.”

But even so, Credence looked guilty.

“It’s alright, Credence,” Graves said, trying for his normal calm and gentling voice only to sound like a boy trying to comfort another boy. His lip curled with displeasure, but he tried to ignore it. “Like Queenie said, you couldn’t have known you’d be meeting with a much smaller than usual Director of Magical Security.”

And yet, here they were.

“Why am I here, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked. Graves shot a quick look at Queenie, who had been in charge of collecting the boy while he and Tina setup the portkey with MACUSA security staff.

“There wasn’t exactly a lot of time for explanations,” Queenie said bashfully.

Graves sighed and went to stand in front of Credence, using the boys seated position to gain himself a little bit of height and authority as he tried to set about a confident posture.

“As you well know, Credence, Grindelwald escaped custody months ago,” and when the boy tentatively nodded, Graves continued, “Well, after a long period of silence, it seems he’s risen from the woodwork. And unfortunately, based off his latest strike, there’s no way to know what his goals are. But you were a previous target, so it only makes sense to move you to a safe house.”

“But I thought I was in a safe house before?” Credence asked, soft, hesitant. Unsure of whether or not he could question the present company - but far more brave than he had been in the days directly after saving him from Mary Lou and Grindelwald.

“You were,” Tina said, hands gentle as she grasped his shoulder kindly. “But we have reason to believe someone in MACUSA gave Grindelwald information, resulting in the ambush that…”

Tina trailed off, eyes slowly dragging to the young Mr. Graves.

Graves gestured to himself wryly, sleeves somewhat too big, and said, “Made me like this.”

“We can’t be sure that the old safe house is still viable,” Tina said with a nod. “We can’t take any chances.”

“So!” Queenie said, clapping her hands to break up the sour, gloomy mood. “That means we got to make the best of it! It’s a rather lovely cabin, if a little small. A room for the ladies, a room for the fellas!”

Graves blanched, but didn’t say a word - dead set on not complaining. Thankfully, he didn’t need to. Credence spoke up instead.

“O-one room?” Credence stammered. “Does that mean… one bed as well?”

“Afraid so, honey. You and Mr. Graves are gonna have to get right cozy, ‘cause it’s that or sharing with either Tina or me.”

And at that, both men - or boys - flushed scarlet, making Tina and Queenie chuckle.

“That’s what we figured,” Tina said, pulling away from Credence to head to the girls’ room on the first floor by the front door. “We’ll be down here. That leaves the loft upstairs for you boys.”

“Goldstein,” Graves said, stopping her on her way to her room. Stupidly grateful that she listened. That she didn’t just brush him off. “Wards?”

“Already settled,” Tina said.

“Foe-Glass?”

“Set up,” Queenie said with a joyful bob of her curls.

“Emergency portkey?”

“Ready if we need it,” Tina said, then - instead of being annoyed - smiled softly. “I learned from the best, sir. We’ll be safe, at least for tonight.”

And _that_ made a little something warm stir in Graves chest. He nodded and tried to hide his smile, but didn’t quite succeed.

“Thank you, Tina.”

“Good night, Mr. Graves,” she said, then, “Credence,” and slipped into her room with Queenie, the lights out soon after.

 

* * *

 

Graves hadn’t shared a bed with another human in years. Literally years. He had grown up a single child of a small, wealthy family. He had shared his bed with a few fellas and dames during war times, but once he had returned to his career in the government and law enforcement, all other activities - including sex - just fell to the wayside. A stolen moment between himself and his hand in the shower was all he could afford. A man like him couldn’t afford love and its limitations. The dangers of a relationship, both for himself and his potential partner, were just far too great.

And so, Graves did not allow himself to share the bed with others. Until now, that was.

Now he found himself in a decently sized bed, at least, sharing the covers with a spindly little boy that could explode into a murderous fog of pent up magical rage. The boy he had met only twice before Grindelwald had imprisoned him. The boy he had promised to save, to steal away from Mary Lou. The boy whose promise was broken by another man wearing his face.

The boy who forgave him anyway.

Credence Barebone.

Graves dare not turn to face the center of the bed, lest he stare at that innocent, drawn face all night - still skinny from neglect, still haggard from fear, still pale from years of hiding. Long lashes on snowy skin, lips parted on a gentle sigh. Hands curled beneath his chin. Small in sleep, just as he tried to be small in life - even if his stature did not quite allow it.

Graves dare not turn to face the center of the bed, lest he notice the way the young man’s hair had started to grow out from its infernal bowl cut. Or the way he nosed into the pillow for comfort. Graves dare not turn, because there was something he had forgotten about his youth.

The Hunger.

The roiling need that seeped into the gut at night, drawing up his balls and making him ache, making him fill despite himself. Cock hot and heavy and tenting the delicate fabric of - _fucking hell_ \- the delicate fabric of one of his direct report’s (and friend’s) pajamas. A pearly bead of need weeping from his slit to dot the light blue of the offending garment. Lewd pressure from the fabric making him have to bite his knuckle not to keen. How had he forgotten this? This terrible desire? This constant, raging want. This hot and heavy ball of need in his belly, just above his cock - twisting and swelling and pressing down.

And the more he thought about it, the worse it got. The worse it got, the more he thought about it. His mind a circling maelstrom of obsession, all revolving around one thing - sex. He needed relief. Friction. A women’s hot clench to rut into, a finger in his hole, a mouth on his dick; _merlin’s balls, he’d take anything at this point._

He tried to ignore it. Tried to wait it out. Surely it’d go away. Surely it’d go away… It was hardly appropriate to, to debase himself in a bed he was sharing with, with somebody only recently of age to even be considered a young man. The healers had estimated that Graves was somewhere in his late teens. How old was Credence? Nineteen? Twenty? Fuck, was Credence _older than him?_ Obviously more controlled than him; after all, it wasn’t _Credence_ that was this close to rutting against the bedsheets for just a whisper of a thrill.

He bit his knuckle. Tried to think about paperwork. Recited magical theory in his mind. Nothing could suppress the feel of his heartbeat in his dick, pulsing unkindly against the tender flesh of his willowy thighs, and _fuck_ , had he ever been this thin?

He shuddered. He writhed as silently as he could. And when the need grew too much, he tried to smother it. Finally shifted so that he was flat on his belly, hoping the pressure would kill his erection.

It only made it worse.

“Sh-hhiiitttt,” he hissed through his teeth, barely a whisper - lips pressed into the pillow, nearly biting it. His hands clenched and unclenched where he clawed them into the sheets beneath his pillow, determined not to touch himself. But nothing could stop his hips from the minute jerking that started the moment his pelvis hit the mattress. He tried his best to calm the thrusts, to reduce the helpless rutting to small, grinding movements rather than the jackrabbiting his body was quickly trying to devolve to. The silk of Tina’s pajamas felt liquid against his skin, catching once actually wet, and Graves was this close to crying because - _christ, how did he ever survive puberty?_

“Mr. Graves?” Came a sleepy voice from his left, and finally, he stilled - heart low in his chest, seized like a rabbit in a dog’s maw. “Mr. Graves, are you alright? You’re whimpering.”

“F-fine, Credence,” he stammered despite himself, head pressed into the pillow in shame, cheeks aflame. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

“I- I can help you.”

And if possible, Graves froze even further, but between his belly and the sheets, his cock throbbed harder. He furrowed his brows and bit his lip, and had to hold his breath a second before he could finally speak.

“That’s k-kind of you, Credence, but I--”

“It won’t go away,” Credence said, gently, softly, innocently; so matter of factly Graves couldn’t believe it. The boy blushed if you so much as acknowledged his presence in the room, _but this_ he could say, no problem? “You’ll be writhing all night, if you don’t do something.”

Graves nearly sobbed at the thought of this desperate pleasure-pain plaguing him throughout the night. He was so tired, his bones weary from the change. He wanted to sleep so badly. He wanted his old body back, damn it. He wanted release.

“I-I can’t,” Graves said, voice cut off before he could say, ‘ _not with you in the bed, it’s wrong.’_

Cut off by the feel of Credence’s hands flipping him over, making him face him. The wet tent of his pajama bottoms suddenly exposed. Graves bit his lip, face flushed and frowning - ashamed but unwilling to hide in front of the boy. He wouldn’t cower. He wouldn’t… wouldn’t let his youth get the best of him. He was a Graves, damn it. He’d face this like a man.

“I can help,” Credence said, earnesty thick on his tongue.

“I can’t ask you to do that, Credence,” Graves said.

_I don’t want to take advantage. Fuck, you’re still so young. I don’t want you to do anything out of some sense of obligation for helping you. You deserve more than this. More than a man too weak to protect himself, now reduced to a humping pile of scrawny, youthful bones._

It went unsaid, but whatever hesitation was left behind, Credence missed the meaning behind it entirely.

“I have an idea,” Credence said suddenly, after a small pause of thought. Graves could only blink as the boy suddenly began to shimmy on the bed, wriggling out of his own bottoms, and Graves felt his heart stop.

“Credence, _we can’t--_ ”

“Trust me, I saw one of the older girls do it when they snuck a, a suitor into the orphanage. So that they could still feel good without sinning out of wedlock.”

Graves couldn’t say a word edgewise, his breath stolen the moment moonlight finally spilled open the milky stretch of Credence’s pale, slender legs - plush and long at the thigh. He sucked in a breath, another, his cock hard and bobbing against his middle, when suddenly Credence wriggled closer - fingers slipping beneath the tightened waist of Graves’ borrowed bottoms.

“Credence, don’t--”

The silk slipped free. His cock sprung from its confines, freed, wet and heavy, and Graves nearly sobbed - had to bite his knuckle to contain it.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh, Mr. Graves. It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’ll do this and it’ll all be okay.”

Long, slender fingers drew his length out from his body, pulling it between Credence’s legs as he lifted one elegantly, only for that leg to finally fall upon him - sandwiching him between two perfect thighs.

Graves did sob, then; his throat thick with relief when hot, plush flesh finally enveloped him.

“See?” Credence said as Graves’ hips immediately twitched the life, slowly gaining momentum, “Isn’t that better?”

Graves could only nod jerkily, untrusting of his voice as he leaned forward into Credence’s body and took solace in him. Face pressed into the long line of Credence’s throat, pressing grateful kisses into every inch of skin he could find. Lashes wet with desperation. Breath short and heady against Credence’s shoulder. Hands slowly winding around to clench Credence’s ass and bring him closer - sighing with relief when Credence soothingly wrapped his arms around his back and held him close through the storm of want inside him.

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry,” Graves croaked, wet sounds filling the space around them,making him flinch. Making him hungry.

“Don’t be,” Credence said, fingers gentle in his hair.

 _I know what it’s like_.

Credence brought his legs tighter around as he pressed his lips into the top of Graves’ hair and inhaled, and that’s all he needed to lose it. Sharp shots of pearly white piercing the gentle give of Credence’s thighs. Wetting them further. Cock pulsing and spent and sensitive. It tore from him as though from his very soul, leaving Graves feeling weak and hollow and exhausted. He shivered in those long arms and pressed his face into Credence’s skin, unwilling to acknowledge what he’d done. That he had rutted between a young man’s legs as though he were no more in control of his faculties than an animal.

But Credence was right, he did feel better now. The fire sated, the maelstrom gone. A peace he had been craving finally reached.

And Credence just held him. Hands gentle where they rubbed a soothing line up and down the silk that covered Graves’ back. Patient and kind in a way no one had ever been for him. And as Graves’ heart began to slow, he realized that between them, something was still hard.

Of course. _Credence_.

Graves sucked in a breath and pulled away to look down at the long and throbbing erection the boy had sprouted during their romp. He’d been so selfish.

“Credence.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Graves,” Credence said softly, face flushed.

Graves just looked at him seriously and said, “No. It’s not. You took care of me, I can’t leave you like this.”

“Mr. Graves, I--oh!”

Graves took him in hand and marveled at the weight of the boy. Long and girthy. He should have expected it, he guessed, from a young man as tall as Credence - he just never guessed a person as demure and shy as Credence would be so hung. He thought about what it’d feel like, to take that length inside him. Spreading him open, leaving him gaping. With a sharp inhale, he felt his cock twitch and begin to fill again - interest piqued by the trail of thought and young enough to follow, pulse throbbing.

With a quick shimmy closer, he angled his dick into the palm currently holding Credence and began to slide against him, both their cocks caught in the tender laces of Graves’ fingers. He held them firm and close together, flesh sliding with wet, lewd sounds as Credence began to rut into him - cockhead slipping past Graves’ on each thrust. Graves shuddered, a bead of precum weeping from his slit. Credence was _massive_.

“Mr. Graves, I-I can’t,” Credence babbled, forehead dipping to rest against Graves’ brow. Eyes closed, brows furrowed, lips swollen from biting. Graves gripped them both a little tighter and jacked his dick against the other’s harder, faster; quickly approaching another cliff of pleasure.

“Come for me, Credence,” Graves said into his jaw, lips soft when he kissed the skin he found there. “Come _with_ me.”

Credence opened his mouth on a silent sigh, no doubt from years of dealing with puberty beneath the roof of a vindictive bitch, and shook all the way to his cheeks as he came between Graves’ fingers - slicking his hand, his dick, their bellies. The warmth of Credence’s seed and the clench of his own fingers was all Graves needed to follow, his own cock pulsing against the young man’s softening length as he added his mess to Credence’s between them.

They laid there, foreheads jammed together, cocks softening in the loose claw of Graves’ hand, and breathed the same air. Two young men twisted in hastily shed pajamas and soiled bedsheets, legs entangled and seed mixed.

“Th-thank you, Credence,” Graves finally said in a soft hush into Credence’s throat, gently flicking his hand to clear away their mess.

And against his lips, Credence smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Soz!


End file.
